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Updated: June 19, 2025
"Sh-sh!" she whispered, and then, whipping around me, closed the door with no more noise than the wing of a night-bird might make. "In there, and don't move on your life." She pointed to a closet, but I shook my head. "Not if I can help myself," I said. "I have just come out of a deep, deep ditch, and I want to hear the splutter." I was whispering, too, such was the woman's influence.
"He who pointed the finger of scorn is bowing the knee in homage," Kukushkin repeated several times. He had, I may say in parenthesis, an unpleasant habit of adorning his conversation with texts in Church Slavonic. "Sh-sh!" he said as they went from the bedroom into the room next to the study. "Sh-sh! Here Gretchen is dreaming of her Faust."
"Sh-sh yoh not spik dat name," he whispered. "Luis Rojas me. I come for breeng yoh. No can come, yoh man. No spik name som'bodys maybe hears." Annie-Many-Ponies rose and stood peering at him through the dark. "What's wrong?" she asked abruptly, borrowing the curt phrase from Luck Lindsay. "Why I not speak name? Why some body ?" she laid ironical stress upon the word "not come?
"It is always such a pity to see emotions wasted," said Lady Shuttleworth slowly, as if weighing each word. "Wasted? You do think she's an adventuress, then?" said Mrs. Morrison eagerly. "Sh-sh. My dear, how could I think anything so unkind? But we who are old" Mrs. Morrison jerked up her chin "and can look on calmly, do see the pity of it when beautiful emotions are lavished and wasted.
The lightkeeper had been suffering for an opportunity to blow off steam, and the opportunity was here. Benijah withered under the blast. "S-sh-sh! sh-sh!" he pleaded. "Land sakes, Seth Atkins, stop it! I don't blame you for bein' mad, but you nor nobody else sha'n't talk to me that way. I'll fix your horse in five minutes. Yes, sir, in five minutes. Shut up now, or I won't do it at all!"
McSporran!" he hissed in a loud eager whisper, "Jes' 'awk t' im? . . . gort th' real reg'mental tatch 'as old Kissiwasti! ain't he?" his face shone with simple pride "d' yer 'ken' that? sh-sh! listen now! . . . Yer shud 'ear 'im s'y 'Oot, mon! . . . 'Awk t'im up an' tellin'yer w'y th' Jocks wear th' kilts." Awhile McSporran listened, but with singular lack of enthusiasm.
She got up and, in the uncertainty bred of the dream, felt the brown bureau, felt it hungrily, almost incredulously. The brown bureau had been pushed against the door when they had come, and knocked and knocked. Then they had thundered with the butts of their six-shooters, and the children had wakened, and she had called out to them: "Sh-sh! It’s only a bad dream.
Polish up your spectacles, old man you've made 'em damp by that race we had to catch the train and look at your vis-a-vis. Dud-dud-dud-do you see a likeness? Dud- dud-dud-don't see it myself. He's bab-bab-bab-bald, and he's not sh-sh- sh-ort-sighted. Fl. Probably he doesn't stammer either. I'll try presently. Positively, if he wore spectacles and a wig of your hair, I shouldn't know you apart.
"Sh-sh!" she enjoined, "Janet is within yonder room and will hear thee; she may already be awake and prying about to know what is astir upon the terrace!" "Indeed, I think thou hadst better hide me!" "Nay, I cannot; I know of no place. Dost thou not know of a safe hiding?" "I am safest here in thy chamber, I am sure. I know of no other place.
"You must try to go to sleep again." She and Madge never changed their positions until the ill girl's head grew heavy on their arms and she slept peacefully. "O Phil!" Madge faltered, "you don't think Mollie is going to " "Sh-sh!" returned Phyllis warningly. "Don't show her you are surprised at anything she says."
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